


Cedar and Ash

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark, Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, Mild Blood, Minor Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:07:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29834391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Malfoy Manor had become a house of horrors. The sounds of screams filled the halls; echoes of people begging for mercy. Behind every door was a monster waiting to strike. In every hiding place, there was a ghost.Or when Lucius and Hermione decide to make a change and try to make a better future.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy
Kudos: 6
Collections: 2021 DBQ Round One: Boggart





	Cedar and Ash

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [TheSlytherinCabal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSlytherinCabal/pseuds/TheSlytherinCabal) in the [DBQ2021Round1](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DBQ2021Round1) collection. 



> Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me but are the property of J.K.R. and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended. The theme for this round of the competition was Boggart and my chosen pairing was Lucius Malfoy/Hermione Granger. Comments/Reviews are encouraged by The Slytherin Cabal's Admin Team on all stories in Death By Quill, but comments left by readers are set to be moderated by story authors until the end of the competition in order to protect participants' anonymity. Thank you to my beta for their time and help.

Malfoy Manor had become a house of horrors. The sounds of screams filled the halls; echoes of people begging for mercy. Behind every door was a monster waiting to strike. In every hiding place, there was a ghost. 

It had not always been that way: Lucius’ family had filled it with the sounds of playing children, women laughing over tea, and men chatting in the smoking-room. Those days were long gone, vanished in a puff of smoke and darkness. The Dark Lord was dead, but his mark remained.

Draco had moved out after being found innocent, desperate to be somewhere that people would not spit on him in public. Narcissa? Poisoned, and the Aurors had not even bothered to investigate who had murdered her, let alone bring them to justice. 

He thought bitterly,  _ the wife of a Death Eater mattered little.  _

There were moments throughout the years that Lucius had prayed for death, begged for it, but it never came. He wanted to be with Narcissa forever, but he was too much of a coward to end himself. 

His life had stopped until  _ she _ came trampling in. The stubborn little-know-it-all who didn’t have the good sense to know what’s best for her. The one who did not know how to stay away from poison. He knew he should be grateful for that. She deserved better than him, and yet he could not see her away. Hermione Jean Granger wanted him like a moth wished to be near a flame. It would be fantastic for a moment and end in a blaze of glory. 

She slept next to him in bed, his ring on her finger, showing the world that she was _ his _ wife. The sounds of her soft snoring filled his ears, anchoring him to the here and now. Hermione was here, and he was not alone. Most nights, that kept him balanced, but it only did so much.  _ She _ only could do so much. 

The ghosts of the Manor called to him. They sang to him like sirens, pleading with him to join them in their sorrow and pain. To drown himself in their presence and not see the light of the morning. The Grandfather clock in Narcissa’s drawing-room struck midnight. The booming sound filled his ears as the bells rang out. Lucius felt it in his bones. Long ago, that sound had brought him joy; it had been a wedding present from his mother. Now he just wanted to obliterate it with his magic, so no one could tell what it even was anymore. 

But Narcissa had adored it. She claimed it sounded like music and reminded her of home, so it remained intact—the last reminder in this manor of his love for her. 

“Lucius,” Hermione murmured, her voice still groggy from sleep. She turned, facing him. “Don’t get up. You don’t need to worry. You are safe, I swear it.” She looked at him, truly looked at him as if she could see straight through him. As if she didn’t see a monster, a Death Eater, or someone unworthy, but instead someone she loved. 

That usually would have stopped him, but not tonight. Tonight was different. 

It was the anniversary of the night that cut him into a million pieces. It belonged to Narcissa. It was the night she had died. 

Lucius sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His bare feet hit icy wood floors, sending shivers up and down his body. The springs bed creaked under him as he stood up. He snatched his wand from underneath his pillow, shoving it into his dressing gown. It wasn’t the wand he had bought at eleven. No, that one was destroyed by a monster, and he had been the one to hand it to him. He had been the one to put his wife, son, and himself in shackles. He had sold their freedom for fool’s gold, and a mere child had saved them.

“I will be fine, Hermione,” he said, not bothering to look at her. His expression would give him away. “I will come back to bed soon.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise. I will be back to bed soon,” Lucius said, turning to brush her curls out of her face. He had lied to the Wizengamot; lying to a woman shouldn’t be this hard.

_But_ _you didn’t love them, and you love this woman,_ he thought. _No, that is the reason to protect her, even if it means keeping secrets._

Lucius walked out of their bedroom, shutting the door softly behind him. He went down the hall, past the room he once shared with Narcissa, and past Draco’s childhood bedroom where he used to tuck his son in every night and sing him lullabies. He stopped a moment in front of the smoking-room where he used to hold meetings, a room he had not been inside in years. He walked by the drawing-room quickly, a tear slipping down his cheek. That was where he shared his first kiss with Narcissa all those years ago, but it was also the room where Bellatrix had tortured Hermione. 

He desperately tried to stop those images from flooding his mind, but they pushed through his barriers, their horrid tales unable to be forgotten. They had shut up that room and it would stay that way. Lucius walked up the stairs step by step, the floorboards creaking under his feet. He stopped, for a moment, gripping the handrail. 

_ He had to do this. He had to face it. This was the only way to see her.  _

He could not forget or let her go. Narcissa: his world, his soulmate, and his everything.

He stepped inside and shut the door firmly behind him. Lucius could hear it, the creature shaking within the wardrobe. The hinges creaked, and the Boggart appeared, but as the wrong woman. 

It was not Narcissa, the form it had taken. It was not her standing there berating him for how he was to blame for her death. Not his wife of twenty plus years, even in a crude and wretched form. Not the version of her that shattered him just as much as it brought comfort. 

It had become Hermione. She lay there dead, blood dripping from her mouth, like Narcissa when she had died.

The sounds of screams filled his ears: a haunted, unhinged, and excruciating sound. 

_ Was that him? _ Lucius thought,  _ could it be was he the one who was crying out? Was he the one who was screaming? _

The Boggart’s neck snapped; a vile and unnatural sound. Its flat and dead brown eyes rolled back, wild curls falling into its face as its bloodless lips opened to scream. 

Lucius might as well have been a fly on the wall for his lack of control over his body. His limbs were frozen, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He knew he should run from this place or at least back away from it, yet he could do no such thing. There might as well have been a spell sealing his feet to the ground, or an Imperius curse cast upon him. 

Long ago he had been fearless, laughing at the very idea of being scared of anything. Those feelings were for  _ other _ people, the kind who stuck their necks out for others and wore their hearts on their sleeves. They were the ones who did not know how to protect themselves, those who did not guard their hearts. Yet he was now one of them. He now was one of  _ those  _ who allowed himself to fall apart over something that was not even real. The Boggart would vanish if only he could use the spell, though he could not remember what it was. Lucius fiddled around in his pockets, trying to find his wand, only to have it slip from his fingers once he had gotten ahold of it. 

The attic door scraped across the floor behind him. The sound of bare feet thwacking across the boards filled his ears. Her hand firmly on his back snapped him out of his stupor and shock. He could smell her shampoo: lilacs. She was here. 

Hermione bent down, picking up his cedar wand, shoving it into his hand without a word. Lucius gripped it, raising it slowly and pointed it at the disfigured ghoul. His right hand shook, fingers clenching the wood tightly, his knuckles bloodless and pale. 

“I am here, Lucius,” Hermione said, holding onto him, clinging to his arm. “Say it with me, okay? And if you ever lie to me again? I will have your guts for garters, understood?”

He nodded and kissed her forehead. His mind searched for something, anything that could make this funny. No, he could not turn his wife into a clown, nor a chicken, a peacock, or a bunny, but maybe something like the last thing might work. He had seen something that might work back when he had been at Hogwarts. They had passed it around the dorm, the black and white faded Muggle photograph. He remembered the small white scratch on it. The way he and the other boys stared at it longingly. Lucius had wondered what it would be like to meet the woman in it. The Muggle with the curly hair and the sexy smile who was wearing the strange bunny outfit. A Playboy bunny, someone had called her.

In his moment of hesitation, Hermione pulled out her ash wand and leaned forward. “Come on, love; it’s getting old, watching this thing pretend to be me.”

The Boggart leaned up on an elbow, cocking its head to the side, watching Hermione. It studied her, trying to figure out her fear. The thing’s neck snapped again, an odd wheezing sound escaping its lips. The creature’s hair bled from brown to black. Its face twisted, slipping from Hermione’s to something else. 

“ _ Riddikulus _ ,” they cried together before it could fully transform into something else, or so they thought. 

The sound of a whip cracking filled his ears as their magic twisted and bent together. It hit the Boggart, knocking it back. There was a resounding thud as its head hit the wooden floor, and it transformed, changing just as it was supposed to, into something funny. But it wasn’t what Lucius expected.

Bellatrix Lestrange stood before them, or at least some form of her, in all her horrible glory. Her long black curls were wild around her shoulders; her pale skin, long-limbed body, and once-elegant face ravaged by time and Azkaban. 

“It’s not her.” Hermione muttered, adding to herself, “It’s not her. Laugh, Hermione. You have to remember it’s not her.”   
  


“Look at her, Hermione,” Lucius said. “It’s not her, and you might find this funny.”

“No, I won’t. I tried to help you and the spell didn’t work right.” She shivered next to him, pulling away when he reached for her. 

“It did, I swear it, in a rather horrible and funny way.”

“Then why aren’t you laughing?” She asked sharply, looking up at him. “Because it’s not funny.”

“It’s horrifying. Look at it, my love and take its power away from it.”

Hermione reached for him, her fingers brushing against his dressing gown. He wanted to lean into her touch, but Lucius fought the urge. She asked, “Together?”

“Together.” He said, nodding. 

Lucius looked at the Boggart and rubbed Hermione’s arm, trying to let her know she would be okay. The sight before him horrified him. 

The spell had worked for both of them: Bellatrix was dressed in a Playboy bunny outfit. The tight satin costume clung to her curves. She wore black thigh-highs with the line up the back, and a pair of white ears attached to a headband. She held a tray, somewhat unsteady on a pair of heels. The Boggart turned slightly, hiding its face. 

“Merlin,” Hermione gasped, covering her face with her hands. “Gods, that’s horrible.”

“I could have lived my whole life without seeing that,” Lucius mused, turning away from the creature to face his wife. “But the outfit, on the other hand, would have been lovely on you.”

“Nope,” she said, shoving him. “I will not be wearing that!”

“What about in the bedroom?” 

“No!”

Lucius felt so much lighter without the Boggart sucking the very life out of the room. Everything that seemed so horrible a few moments ago seemed so rather far away. He missed Narcissa and always would, but the proof was before him: he feared the death of Hermione far more than he was afraid that Narcissa blamed him for  _ her  _ death. “Maybe one photo to remember this experience by?”

“No,” Hermione said, sighing. After a moment, she added softly, “Maybe I will wear one in the bedroom for your birthday, but only once, and no photos!”

The Boggart realised they weren’t laughing at or afraid of it, but they were ignoring it. After a moment, it let out a rather loud huff, causing them to turn to face it once more. It turned on its heel as if it were trying to be impressive or at least showing its anger. But instead, it wobbled on its too-high heels, and its white plush tail wagged.

“Can’t you see the benefits of such a thing?” He asked, pleading slightly. 

“Why is its bloody tail moving?” Hermione cried, her voice shrill. 

“They are supposed to do that?” Lucius couldn’t help but wonder what was his wife’s problem with such a thing.   
  


“No, no, no. Not with a Muggle costume!”

“But tails wag!” He said, somewhat flippantly, wagging his finger as he did. 

She gave him a slight shove, “Not fake ones! Not ones on costumes!”

Lucius said bluntly, “I blame Muggle photographs for this. They should move like magical ones. Then I would know that. Why can’t they make them properly?” 

The Boggart got back into the wardrobe and slammed the doors sharply behind it. Hermione turned to Lucius, laughing as she did, shoving him gently in the shoulder. “They are exactly how they should be. Bloody wizards.” She rolled her eyes at him. 

He reached down, brushing her curls out her face and holding onto her chin. Hermione shivered under his touch. “I am going to be serious, now, okay?”

“Can’t we just forget about this and never speak of it again?”

“We are going to. That thing was horrifying and hilarious all at the same time,” Lucius laughed. “But we still do need to talk about it. You still fear her, don’t you?”

“And yet, long ago, I used to fear failure the most of all things. It is a silly and childish fear, the worries of a girl who holds herself to a far too high standard. Just like that, this shall too one day pass.” She pressed her hands into his chest, twisting her fingers into his dressing gown, her warm brown eyes looking up at him. 

His Hermione. This woman was his safe harbour, heart, and home. Lucius shut his eyes and said, “Not when you must live here with her ghost and the memories. Not in a house with a room you do not enter because Bellatrix tortured you inside of it. Nor will I heal with the ghost of a life I am no longer living. Draco and Astoria had the right idea, love.”   
  


“But this is  _ your _ home, and I will not make you give it up for me.”

“My  _ home _ is wherever you are, wherever my family is,” Lucius murmured, his palm moving from her face to her hip. His mind filled with the thoughts of the future. “I will not have another child growing up with the ghosts of my mistakes. I will not make them bear the brunt of my choices. I should have done it years ago, but I filled my heart with foolish notions of history and heritage. I let myself believe that a manor mattered more than anything else. It doesn’t, and it never has. I cannot lose you, too, Hermione. I will burn this wretched place down myself before that.” 

He dropped to his knees in front of her. A lifetime ago, his father had told him to kneel before no one: not man, woman, or child. He had been wrong. Tears slipped from his eyes, staining Hermione’s nightdress. “I don’t deserve you.”

She twisted her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “I believe I am the one who should decide that, don’t you agree? Who deserves me or who doesn’t?”

Lucius opened and shut his mouth, trying to find the words, but nothing came out. 

Hermione pressed her thumb against his cheekbone. “We can leave this place, Lucius. I want to be wherever you are, husband, wherever that may be.”

“France is beautiful this time of year,” he said. “The coast would be a lovely place to make a life for ourselves. A fresh start?”

“I would love that.” Hermione slipped to her knees in front of him, hugging and pulling him close. He leaned into her, into the warmth and the closeness. “I remember the last time you were on your knees in front of me, asking me to marry you. I love you. I love you more than anything I ever have or ever will. I love you more than I fear anything.”

Lucius looked at her: the soft curve of her lips, her eyes looking straight through him, her nose slightly upturned, and the moonlight making her curls look like a halo. He clasped their hands together, and their wands both fell to the floor, cedar and ash, tied together for a lifetime. She kissed him, and only one thought filled his mind: this life was worth fighting and dying for. When all things come to an end, what matters most is family. 


End file.
